A Hunt with Wolves
by Bad0Wolf
Summary: Seventeen years after Robert's Rebellion, Ned Stark is king and he must defend his throne and family against his many ennemies.
1. Eddard

**A HUNT WITH WOLVES:**

**Author's Note: **This is a fanfiction of the Game of Thrones saga. A question that has often stood out in the back of my head is this: what would have happened if Ned Stark had become king instead of Robert Baratheon at the end of the War of the Usurper? In this fic, Robert died from wounds received at the Battle of the Trident during his duel against Rhaegar Targaryen and the lords of Westeros chose Ned Stark as their new king. His brother, Benjen, has assumed the ancestral Stark title as Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.  
The surviving Targaryens didn't flee Westeros and were captured after the Sack of King's Landing. This includes Viserys Targaryen, the last son of the Mad King, and Daenerys Targaryen, whom I have changed from being the daughter of the Mad King to being the daughter of Rhaegar and his Dornish wife, Elia Martell.

Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones which all belongs to G. R. R. Martin. This story is purely for my own entertainment and for all those who want to read it.

**EDDARD STARK**

He had forgotten what it was like to be in the North.

He had forgotten that the biting child was ever present and, even when you thought you had shaken it, it returned to surprise you and remind you that you were no longer in the warm comfort of the South: you were in the harsh reality of the North, where survival was the first and foremost concern, and were you knew that if you dropped your guard, even for a moment, it could very well be over. You could be trampled by a boar as you took a break after a day of hunt in the forest; you could be surprised by one of the summer snows which often fall in the deep of night and the coldest of days, with nothing but your wits and the good will of others to help you; or you could be a stranger come from comfortable lands and not expecting what every Northern knew from birth and remembered until his death: that winter is coming, and there is nothing you can do to stop it.

But for King Eddard of House Stark, the First of His Name, it was none of these things. It was a reminder that he was home, home after seventeen years of self-imposed exile. Or at least that was what it felt like at times, when days of political intrigue and relentless plotting made him regret the day he had agreed to accept the Crown. Yet he had, as Cat never hesitated to remind him, so there was no point trying to pretend otherwise. It wasn't for himself that Ned worried; he knew what he had gotten himself into and that was what he told himself during the particularly hard times. But he did worry for what would happen when he was no longer here. At thirty-five years of age, he had begun to feel time catching up with him and, although he knew that he had several more years ahead of him, it couldn't help concern him. Because when he would die, the Iron Throne would pass to Robb, his eldest son and heir. And that wasn't something that he would wish for anyone let alone his own son. By the gods, there were times when he wished that Robert were still alive and that he had claimed the Iron Throne as he had been meant to. But Robert was dead, killed at the Trident after his duel with the Last Dragon.

And now Ned rode north to his old home of Winterfell with his court to visit his brother Benjen. And, while he knew that this would have the appearance of a family reunion when they actually reached the castle, the truth was far from it. Indeed, the reason for Ned's journey north was far more serious and was in fact the accomplishment of a promise made long ago; a promise which had ended a war and had held a precarious peace together for almost seventeen years; a promise for which Ned had promised the life of his own son.

"Your thoughts betray you, Your Grace," came a snippy remark from behind Ned.

The king turned to find the smiling face of Tyrion Lannister as the dwarf led his horse towards him. Immediately, the Kingsguard placed their hands on their swords and begun to turn their horses to block the Imp's passage. "Stand down," Ned told them. "Let His Excellency pass."

Tyrion's smile widened. "One wouldn't think that a warrior as renowned as Your Grace would not need a full guard of seven valuable knights to protect him from a mishap of nature such as myself. Wouldn't you agree, Ser Brynden?" The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Brynden Tully, wasn't known as a man who minced his words and that was one of the many reasons why Ned had granted him a seat on his Small Council: his blunt honesty allowed him to hear what he needed to hear and not what he wanted to hear, something that was invaluable to him. But when he made to reply to the Imp's words, Ned gave him a look that told him not too. It wouldn't do well to get into a verbal joust with the youngest Lannister: he usually won. So Brynden held his tongue and merely inclined his head in a purposely vague gesture of acknowledgement.

"And would think Your Grace would be happier at returning home after so long spent in the capital," he said after realising that he wouldn't be having a worthy fight with Brynden. "Because it is universally known that you do not like King's Landing. Something that I can relate to: I long for the day I can return to Casterly Rock but, as we both know, that won't happen before some time."

"Is there something you wish to tell me, Your Excellency?" Ned asked, growing tired of Tyrion's little games.

He seemed offended but Ned knew that he was not. "Your skills at diplomacy continue to amaze me. Who would think that such an acerbic tone has prevented the Seven Kingdoms from going to war for seventeen years? You are a force of nature, Your Grace."

"And you are a liar; an ideal trait for an ambassador!" Ned also had little patience for proper etiquette when it came to dealing with someone like Tyrion Lannister. The Imp had arrived in King's Landing three days before the court left for Winterfell and he had immediately made his mark. Officially, he had been appointed as the Rock's ambassador to the Iron Throne and it was a role that; Ned had to admit it; he managed quite well. But it was well known why he was really here and few hesitated to tell him to his face.

But Tyrion didn't seem to mind. "My presence here is to make sure that the terms of the treaty signed after the Great Council seventeen years ago are upheld. My father was one of the signatories as you well know."

"And he was the first to break one of its key terms," Ned replied. Even had he wanted to be diplomatic, he didn't think that he would have been able to hold his tongue on the subject. If Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King, had been here, he would have given him one of the looks that used to freeze the bloods of the two mischievous boys that he and Robert had been when they were fostered at the Vale.

But Ned knew that Tyrion wouldn't take offence and indeed he didn't. "Yes, quite. Which may explain why he doesn't believe this mission to be of much importance; and hence my presence." Ned turned to look at the dwarf who had brought his horse next to him after the Kingsguard had stood down. His smile seemed genuine and there was nothing anywhere on his face or in his manner that suggested that he somehow resented the fact that the only reason his father had given him such an important task was to get him away from the Rock. It was common knowledge in the whole of Westeros that Tywin Lannister held nothing but hatred for his last born son. This hatred was made even worse by the fact that he would eventually be forced to acknowledge Tyrion as his heir. And it had been Ned's fault, in Tywin's eyes, and Ned's doing, in the eyes of the rest of the Kingdoms.

After the War of the Usurpers had ended, Ned had made a point to exact swift justice on all those who he believed had committed wrongs during the uprising. It had been a way for him to deliver what he believed to be the appropriate justice onto the guilty and a way to strengthen his tenuous hold on the throne. One of the first cases he had taken up had been the punishment of the one who had murdered his predecessor. Jaime Lannister was the youngest knight ever admitted to join the Kingsguard and he had been King Aerys II Targaryen's most visible protector during the war. It had been a pressure point on Tywin Lannister to prevent him from joining the uprising against him. And it had been the Mad King's biggest mistake: when Tywin had taken his army to King's Landing and sacked the city to make up for his refusal to join the rebellion, Jaime had forsaken his vows and killed the Mad King. Despite an appeal by both Tywin and Jon Arryn that Jaime's act would have been repeated by someone else after the city was taken, Ned had not been dissuaded. He could not tolerate to have someone so callously betrayed a sacred oath of allegiance and that was the message that he was trying to send to the Kingdoms over which he now ruled. However, he had admitted that Jaime's crime didn't warrant the death sentence. Such an act would have turned Tywin against him without the shadow of a doubt. Instead, he had exiled him to the Night's Watch. Therefore, he had deprived Tywin Lannister of his heir. And Tyrion had appeared as the only alternative.

Tywin's anger at having been stripped of his heir had not failed to manifest. He had recalled all his banners and returned to the Rock. A few days later, he declared that he had renounced his allegiance to the Iron Throne; claiming that the Lannisters had bowed down to the Targaryens and not to the Starks; and proclaimed himself to be King of the Rock. The secession had sent shock waves through the Kingdoms and fears had arisen that war would resume very soon. Several Houses, with the Tyrells in the lead, had made known their intention to support Tywin's action and his cause in any coming war. However, Ned had no intention of waging war, not so soon after the rebellion. Nevertheless, he had the combined support of the North, the Riverlands, and the Vale behind him. Stannis Baratheon, Robert's younger brother and the new Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, also refused to consider supporting Tywin's action although he was slow to promise to support Ned. Only when the Martells of Dorne declared that they would support the Iron Throne did the threat of war begin to truly dissipate. Thanks to Jon Arryn's diplomacy, Tywin promised that he would uphold the terms of the peace treaty on the condition that his claim as King of the Rock be recognized by Ned. And so peace had been saved, but only by a thread. Ned knew, in his gut and thanks to spies placed in the Rock, that Tywin still resented him deeply for his actions and that a war could happen any day. The false pretence of civility and diplomacy between the two thrones did little to hide the fact that, eventually, a war would erupt between them. And what Ned feared was that Robb would have to deal with it.

That made this trip all the more important for him. And he had no doubt that both Tywin and Tyrion knew this.

"I nevertheless hope that this embassy shows your father's goodwill when it comes to upholding the peace terms that ended the rebellion," Ned said after a short silence. He was shooting an arrow in the dark but he hoped that it would catch his prey. And it did. Tyrion's reaction to the remark was all the confirmation that he needed: "My father will uphold the treaty as he always has." The sarcasm in the Imp's voice was unmistakable. A conversation held in the privacy of his chambers between himself, Jon Arryn, and Lord Varys returned to him. Varys had echoed a belief that Jon had agreed with: a belief that a close ally would be needed in the Rock much more than any of their spies and much more than the banners they could summon in the event of war. And Varys had insisted that Tyrion had the potential to be that ally. Ned had originally dismissed it out of hand, not wanting to associate himself with a Lannister and least of all, Tywin's son. But as he had gotten to know the Imp, he began to have the feeling that Varys might have been right. And he still hadn't made up his mind about him but the trip to Winterfell had been long, the trip back would also be long, and, as Tyrion himself said, he wouldn't be seeing the Rock again for a while. There was plenty of time for him to decide whether or not he might be useful in the future.


	2. Daenerys

DAENERYS TARGARYEN

_Winterfell is my home_, Daenerys thought as she overlooked the courtyard of the busy castle which was making the necessary preparations for the arrival of the King and his court. From her vantage point in the Library Tower, she could see all the activity that she knew was her mother's doing for the most part. You could say what you wanted about Benjen Stark; that he was a renowned warrior and an effective governor who had proved more than up to the task of ruling the vast and untameable North; but when it came to organizing banquets and other social events, even for his fellow Northerns, he was a walking nightmare. Daenerys couldn't count the number of times when she had heard her mother cursing over his somewhat minimalistic plans for such events: indeed, all he would arrange for would be several barrels of ale and wine, the needed food for a host of starving lords (always to be increased when inviting the Greatjon, Lord of House Umber, whose appetite was as legendary as his ferocity in battle and the ear-shattering sound of his snoring), and a complete lack of formality and etiquette. It had therefore been agreed long ago that, while Benjen ruled the North, Elia would rule Winterfell. It was a task she devoted a great deal of her time too and none could doubt that she was uniquely qualified to run the Stark household. And it was rare, even after fifteen years of marriage to their liege lord, for the Northern lords to grant her such respect.

That made Daenerys even more apprehensive about the thought that she would soon be leaving Winterfell; she had known from the start that she would one day be leaving but that didn't make the thought any easier to accept. After all, Winterfell was the only home that Daenerys had ever known and the only other places she had seen were the other holdfasts of the North where she had travelled with her good-father when he had insisted on taking her with her, events which had been rare because of her mother's reluctance to let her leave Winterfell. It had always hurt Daenerys that the respect she had always been granted was denied to her mother by Benjen's bannermen. She knew that her mother didn't care in the slightest but it had always made Daenerys feel uncomfortable. For as long as she could remember, it had always been Elia and her against the world, confidents in all things and accomplices in everything. And Elia could be quite the trickster when she put her mind to it, showing a carelessness that surprised many. It was one of the things that had allowed her to gain both the respect and loyalty of the people of Winterfell. But the rumours of her relaxed attitude were yet another reason of her deep unpopularity in the North. And the only people she could ever confide too about her troubles were Daenerys and Benjen. When her daughter would leave, she would lose so much more than just a child. And it was something that she was already far too familiar with.

A loud bang and cry of pain dragged Daenerys out of her thoughts and she looked down to see one of the tables destined for the Great Hall had been dropped. One of the peasants that Elia had hired for the occasion had got his foot caught under it. He was now screaming to the Seven Heavens in a futile hope that the pain would just vanish. The poor man's tragedy had had the unforeseen side effect of dragging the young woman out of her thoughts; she didn't want to dwell on them right now. She needed a distraction and the book that she was reading wasn't going to do the trick. Standing up from the window ledge where she liked to read, she returned the book to its shelf. She came often here enough to know where every book was located and Maester Luwin would always insist that she guide any person wishing to find whatever book. The Library Tour had become Daenerys's refuge since she had stopped seeking it solely in her mother's arms. It had brought comfort when she needed. Now it only served as a reminder that she would soon no longer be able to come here.

Hoping that either Jenna or Rick would be available or willing to accompany her on a ride, she made her way to the stables to ask for her horse to be prepared while she went to find her brother and sister. However, when she saw who was crossing the courtyard pulling his horse by the reins towards the stables, she forgot all about her plans. "Jon!" It was indeed Jon Snow who had just walked in. He turned his head when he heard her cry and his ever so serious face broke into a smile. Daenerys ran towards him and jumped into his arms, her smile wide and all etiquette forgotten. He returned her embrace and his laugh filled her ears; she had missed his laugh more than anything. They hadn't heard it that much when he still lived at Winterfell but since he had left for the Night's Watch, it had filled the halls whenever he had returned.

"What are you doing here?" she asked when she released him.

"Got fed up with the cold at the Wall; decided a little chill might do me good," It was a long running joke between them. Daenerys had once asked whether the cold was as biting as she had read when you were on the Wall, on the edge of the Land of Always Winter. The joke also served to lighten the fact that winter seemed to be truly coming after nine years of a long summer which the North itself had seen but the Wall wouldn't have noticed. Daenerys wandered what it would be like up north when winter hit: she could still remember the last winter she had been through. That mere thought made her blood freeze and she suddenly feared for Jon's life.

"You know you can come back whenever you want," she said, much more serious all of a sudden. "You don't have to spend all your time up there."

He smiled widely. "I appreciate the offer but I wouldn't change my cell at Castle Black for all the comforts of Winterfell. It may sound strange to your ears but you'd have to witness it to know it."

He sounded sincere and Daenerys knew that he was. He had found a home at the Wall, a home he never believed that he found while living in Winterfell. It seemed terribly unfair and sad to her. But she had him back and she intended to make the most of it. Who knew when she would see him next?

"We should find Benjen," she said. "He will be delighted to have you. But why are you here?" The question seemed redundant as she knew very well why he was here. And she was that reason.

But it wasn't the answer he gave. "The Lord Commander asked me to travel to Winterfell to meet with Uncle Benjen. Our rangers have reported that the wildlings have been gathering in ever growing numbers and we fear that they may try and attack the Wall."

Daenerys was surprised. "Could they do that?" She'd heard stories about the attacks of wildlings on the Wall led by their leaders, the Kings-Beyond-the-Wall. But every single one had been a failure and there hadn't been one for centuries, since the Stark had ruled the North as kings. The thought that it could be happening again… Daenerys admitted that she would love to see something like that. "It's serious enough that the Lord Commander has sent me here for it," Jon said.  
Daenerys accompanied Jon to the stables where they left his horse in the good care of Hullen, the master of horses. They then made their way to the Great Hall where they would undoubtedly find Benjen. Along the way, Jon satisfied Daenerys's curiosity about the wildlings and the precarious situation of the Night's Watch. She found all this talk absolutely fascinating but, if she was being truthful, it was mostly an excuse to avoid the subject she was sure that Jon would eventually bring up. And she didn't want to spoil the joy of his return with the sadness of her imminent departure.

When they reached the Great Hall, they indeed found the Lord of Winterfell, deep in conversation with Maester Luwin. Benjen's sharp features softened considerably, giving him a much more handsome look, when he saw Jon enter the room. Even Maester Luwin's habitual grim demeanour relaxed somewhat; He had, after all, contributed to raising Jon.

"My black nephew," Benjen said, rising from the table on which he had been seated, one leg swinging back and forth. The two men embraced as a father and son would, and that was close enough in their case. "What cold wind brings you this far south?"

He gave Daenerys only the slightest of looks before looking away. "A potent one, Uncle," Jon replied, having bowed his head in respect towards Maester Luwin. "I bring tidings from the Wall and a message from the Lord Commander."

"And have you planned to spend time with your family during this time?"

"Why else would I have accepted the mission?" Jon answered, only half-serious. Daenerys laughed to herself.

Before anymore could be said on the subject, a squeal was heard from the end of the room where men were shuffling in and out to complete the planned arrangement for the feast tables. A young girl who could be no more than nine years old ran through one of the doors flanking the Lord's table, accidently bumping into one of the hired hands. He cursed and started giving her a piece of his mind when he suddenly realized who she was. He bowed and stammered out an apology before getting back to work. A few moments afterwards, a thirteen-year-old boy emerged from the door, snatching his sister (who was still stunned from her blunder) and loudly boasting: "I've got you!" The girl squealed before trying to fight him off. Daenerys knew that if no one stopped them, the girl would start resorting to very dirty tricks to get free.

Benjen apparently had the same thought. "Rick! Jenna!" he called to his two children, stopping them mid-struggle. They apparently hadn't expected their father to be there. "Come here," he said, sounding stern but looking slightly amused. The children rushed to him, Rickard's head bowed in shame and Jenna's proudly held up; ready to face her father's wrath. Daenerys smiled at it, secretly admiring her sister's fierce character. Their mother had raised her in the true Dornish method: while Benjen tried to turn her into a lady of the North, Elia encouraged her to fight with the boys. Rickard was more subdued and quieter, in the manner of his father, and took his role as the heir of Winterfell very seriously. Although he did let loose and enjoyed playing with his siblings as much as any boy his age would, he tried to remain as serious as possible, especially when his father was present.

What would have been a reprimand which Rick would have taken and Jenna would have defied didn't happen because when Jenna saw her cousin, she squealed again (her only true girl trait, Daenerys thought). Rick looked up to see his sister throw herself at Jon and he himself let go of his guarded expression to smile widely although he waited for Jon to come to him before embracing his cousin. Benjen seemed to give up on the reprimand (for now) and turned to Daenerys as his children begun to take complete possession of Jon. "Do you know where your mother is?"

"Isn't she here? I would have thought she would want everything to go according to her plans?"

Benjen smiled. Elia had never been much for decorum and other events before her marriage to him but, with the task of managing the Stark household, she had discovered a real talent for it. It also meant that she was constantly trying to control every moment of the preparations or at least be present to make sure things went according to her wishes. So it was surprising that she wasn't here right now. "I'll go and find her", Daenerys said.

"Tell her that an outrider reports that my brother has been spotted two days away from Winterfell, so things need to be done quickly. That should get her down her fast."

It was smiling that Daenerys left the Great Hall. It didn't last long as the thoughts that had briefly been swept away had returned, stronger than ever. Jon had clearly returned to Winterfell just to see her and, while she was grateful to him for that, she couldn't help but slightly resent him as well. His return would make her departure all the more complicated because, now, she would have to accept the fact that she probably wouldn't be seeing him again before long; that was if she ever saw him again. Jon had been more than just a playmate to her during their years together at Winterfell during their youth: he had been her confident and best friend, the one who had listen to her, to whom she had confided the things she couldn't have told anyone else, not even her own mother. He had listened and often he had given her advice, advice that she knew he got from his own difficult experience of being an acknowledged bastard. And an acknowledged bastard could not set foot at court, Daenerys knew. Especially when this bastard was the King's baseborn son.

So lost was she in her thoughts that she paid little mind to where she was headed or what was in front of her. She collided into the man quite violently, without forewarning, so she was brutally drawn from her thoughts. The shock was such that she would have fallen down had the man not caught on to her arm to steady her and preserve her from a painful fall. Cursing herself for her foolishness, Daenerys turned to the cause of this incident.

"Could you not look where you're going?" She felt angry at this man, probably a bit unjustly because how she felt when she bumped into him.

"My apologies," he answered with a very amused voice. "I haven't visited Winterfell before, I don't have a good knowledge of these corridors and you were the first person that I met here. I imagine this is not the introduction that you would have wished we had, Daenerys Targaryen."

Many things suggested to her that this man was different from any she had ever met: the first clue was his accent; she had rarely heard such a strong Southern accent, one befitting King's Landing, the Riverlands or the Rock but not the North or Dorne which she was most used to (thanks to the numerous visits made by her uncle Oberyn to Winterfell). The second clue was the fact that he hadn't released her arm yet and, although he wasn't hurting her, it did unsettle her. She finally looked up and found herself looking at a man of the Night's Watch, dressed in a fine black tunic, with black breaches and boots made of good leather, a sword and dagger hanging at his side and black gloves. His blood hair which was long to the shoulders and his beard contrasted strongly with the black of his garb and one wouldn't expect someone as handsome to have been sent to the Wall. He was obviously from a noble House and Daenerys knew which one as she looked into his amused eyes.

She drew away from him, wrenching her arm free. "Such fear, young one," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm and a sneer on his face. "Why should you fear a humble ranger from the Night's Watch?"

"We both know you are not harmless, Ser."

He laughed and it seemed genuine to Daenerys's ears. "That I am not. Neither are you although in other ways than me. Speaking of which, I believe congratulations are in order, Princess."

"Why would you congratulate me?"

"I am sure you are looking forward to your upcoming marriage. After all, you must have been raised your whole life expecting it. I wonder how it must feel to finally be arriving at something your whole life has been prepared for."

He was starting to scare Daenerys, although she would never admit it. "Did you ever expect you would be sent to the Night's Watch during your youth?"

"No, I never did."

"What if you had?"

"I suppose that is how you feel today."

Daenerys wanted to get away. "I would imagine that you are looking for my father, Ser."

"I was not aware you called him that," he said, before finally granting Daenerys's wish and asking her where the Great Hall was. She gave him the indications and he made to leave. Before he did, he turned to her again. "I am glad we go to meet at least once, Daenerys Targaryen. Best wishes for your marriage."

With these words, he turned and left. Daenerys also turned and when he left he could not see her anymore, she began picking up her pace until she found herself running, trying to find her mother. She needed to tell her what had just happened; she needed her to know that one of their guests for the next few days would be none other than Ser Jamie Lannister, the First Ranger of the Night's Watch and who was more infamously known as the Kingslayer, the murderer of Daenerys's grandfather.


	3. Varys

**Author's Note: Sorry for the delay in posting this new chapter but I have had other things to do. This story will be continuing but the chapters will be published without any clear timeline. It could be several months between chapters so sorry in advance to all those following this story. Enjoy!**

**VARYS**

Jon Arryn had a headache, Varys could tell. And he couldn't blame him.

The endless welcomes that they had been forced to endure since the king's departure had left even Varys weary and this despite his long years of service to the Iron Throne. But with the rapidly approaching wedding of Prince Robb, every House in Westeros wanted to make sure that they would be represented at the celebration. Not that the marriage in itself interested many but there were other reasons for the rulers of the Seven Kingdoms to want to be present. The trouble for Jon Arryn and the Small Council was that it meant they needed to provide, not only accommodations for all those lords who didn't have lodgings in King's Landing, but the warm greeting required to be given to Lords of the Realm. For the past week, delegation upon delegation had been arriving from all corners of the Kingdoms and they had been given the due honours, all thanks to the tireless work of the Hand of the King. But even Jon Arryn's restless energy could apparently run short and he was starting to feel the frustration common for one working in the murky world of politics.

Not only had they been forced to endure the preparations, cost and burden of these welcomes but they had also been sitting through meetings with each of the individual lords or their envoys who had arrived in the capital. Each was eager for a piece of the cake that remained and one who had sat through these meetings as Varys had would come to believe that the royal wedding was only background noise. The spymaster knew that the nobility of the Seven Kingdom only concerned themselves with their ambitions and he had come to accept that as a necessary part of the life of the Small Council but even his own limits were being stretched thin this week. The absence of the king only seemed to make these things far worse. Had King Eddard been present, he doubted that they would have even dared to speak of such things in his presence. They were making the most of his absence to position their pawns with his advisers so that they would council him to look at things their way. Just yesterday, Lord Arryn and Varys had been made to sit through a tiresome meeting with Lord Velaryon about the possibility of marrying one of the King's children to one of his. He had proposed his six-year-old son Monterys, the future Lord of the Tides, as a potential match for Princess Arya. For this was what they were truly interested in: getting one of their children into the fold of the royal family before all of the king's children were betrothed to be married. And with one about to marry and another already promised, it left only three children to covet. Their young age made it all the more promising for them.  
Right now, a new arrival was about to bless the court with its tedious workings. Varys, however, had been awaiting this delegation more than the others. It was no mere lord who was approaching the shores of King's Landing in a ship that had crossed the whole eastern side of Westeros: it was the Prince of Dorne who was expected to arrive, the one seen by many lords as being the second most powerful person in the Seven Kingdoms after the Starks. The Martells had emerged powerful from the War of the Usurpers when they had successfully ingratiated themselves with the new ruling dynasty. Varys knew more about those transactions than any other for he had had a hand in arranging the negotiations that had led to an alliance that had kept the threat of the Rock at bay ever since then. Not only had Prince Doran's sister, Elia, been remarried to the new Lord of Winterfell after her previous husband had been killed but now, the blood of the sun would join that of the wolf once again and rule over the Realm one day. House Martell was probably the only family who wouldn't be coming to the capital with plans to secure a royal wedding of their own: they already had one.

The three ships of the Dornish fleet arrived in Blackwater Bay at midday and already the court had reached the beach to wait for their arrival. Accompanying them were many members of the City Watch of King's Landing, the famous (or rather infamous) Gold Cloaks, and the three members of the Kingsguard who had not accompanied the king to the North. These three had been left with instructions to protect Princess Sansa and Prince Rickon, who had remained in the capital by their father's instruction. Ser Arys Oakheart, who also acted as the leader of his brethren in the absence of Ser Brynden Tully, stood beside Jon Arryn and his own charge, the Princess Sansa. Ser Rodrik Cassel, arguably the Kingsguard most trusted by the King, protected the young Prince Rickon, who was only six years of age. Finally, the last remaining Kingsguard was the legendary Ser Barristan Selmy. He had not been assigned a royal child to guard but some might argue that his charge was by far more important than the royal children: Viserys Targaryen, the last surviving son of the Mad King and a ward of the Iron Throne. Placed in the care of Ser Barristan after the war had ended, the two had been all but inseparable since.

After the three Dornish ships had dropped their anchors, the wait still continued and Jon Arryn's headache seemed to grow. Varys saw him squinting his eyes against the sun and he spoke only when he needed. Sometimes, he would rub his forehead with his fingers as if he could remove the pain as such. It was unlike the Hand to show such things but not because of a need to hide weakness: for a man his age, he was remarkably fit and he didn't seem to suffer as much as other men his age did. Even so, the headache would need to be particularly potent for even Lord Arryn to show it like this. But Varys doubted anyone noticed busy as they were with their own conversations. Only Princess Sansa seemed to notice it as she stood next to the Hand; Varys heard her asking him whether he was alright and Jon Arryn reassured her that he was fine, ending the discussion swiftly.

Soon however, the wait was over as five small boats arrived on the beach, bearing the dignitaries of Dorne who had accompanied Prince Doran to the capital. But Varys could not see the Prince of Dorne among them. He knew Prince Doran, having met him a few times in the days following the end of the war, and he did not see him in any of the five boats. Instead, a much younger man stood in the lead boat, draped in Dornish clothing with a woman standing next to him, holding on to his arm to steady herself against the rocking of the boat. When the boat reached the shore, the man jumped out before helping his lady to the shore. They didn't wait for the rest of their retinue to join them; they headed straight for Jon Arryn and Princess Sansa. As the man drew closer, Varys recognized him: his handsome Dornish features, seemingly perpetual smile and an air of menace that hung around him marked him as much as the last time they had met… the day that he had tried to kill Varys. An unusual fear gripped the spymaster's stomach; never, as long as he lived, would he forget that day, when he had almost lost his life in Dorne.  
The man finally reached the Princess and the Hand, and bowed down as much as a Dornishmen's pride would allow him to. Jon Arryn, who also seemed slightly taken aback, nevertheless stuck to the formalities: "Your Grace, may I introduce His Highness, Prince Oberyn Martell of Dorne, younger brother to Doran, the Prince of Dorne." Sansa extended a hand to the Dornishmen, a hand he took and kissed as the courtesy required. You could almost hear Jon Arryn's sight of relief or the one he would have uttered in any other circumstance. "Your Grace," Oberyn said his voice thick with his Dornish accent and his smile as charming as it had always been. Varys could see the princess blushing from where he was. Oberyn had that effect on women, even one as young and inexperienced as Princess Sansa.  
She rapidly regained her senses though. "Welcome to King's Landing, Your Highness. I hope your journey from Dorne was not too much bother for you."  
Oberyn smiled again. "We Dornishmen have the sea in our skins as much as the sun, Your Grace. Such a voyage would give us only strength."  
The princess smiled shyly; impressed it would seem with this mysterious newcomer. Jon Arryn, who had allowed the princess to take the role as host and greet the Dornish prince, now spoke. "Prince Oberyn, in the name of King Eddard of the House Stark, the First of His Name, I welcome you to King's Landing. He is grateful for you to have come so far for the royal wedding.

"Forgive me if I seem rude but when will Prince Doran be joining us?"

Oberyn's smile remained the same but Varys noticed the change in his eyes when Jon Arryn began to speak. They became noticeable harder and more unforgiving; Jon Arryn was not someone he had any interest in seducing. "My brother's health has forced him to remain at Sunspear. His gout has unfortunately gotten worse and he will be unable to attend the royal wedding. He has sent me in his stead to represent Dorne and our House at the King's court."

Varys knew the words to be true. Prince Doran's gout had indeed gotten worse in the last few months but Varys had hoped his information had been wrong and that the prince would still be able to travel to King's Landing for the wedding. Dealing with Doran was far easier than dealing with Oberyn even if the Dornish prince seemed to trust his brother enough to give him such an important task. Regardless, if Doran saw the benefits of the alliance between the Starks and the Martells, Oberyn had been a lot more difficult to convince and he was known to hold a grudge.

Jon Arryn seemed to be having the same thoughts but only someone who knew the Hand as well as Varys would be able to say so. He rapidly expressed hope that the prince would recover before starting to introduce Oberyn to the assembled dignitaries from the rest of the Houses. Varys did his best to remain out of the prince's sight, knowing full well that his presence could only make matters worse. Eventually, the presentation ended and Oberyn with the rest of the Dornish delegation followed Princess Sansa and Lord Arryn as they led the procession back to the Red Keep where a welcome feast had been prepared in the honour of their arrival.

"A close shave for you, it would seem, my friend," came a voice from behind the spymaster. Varys did not bother turning; he knew who was talking to him. Petyr Baelish, more commonly known as Littlefinger, was the second best spymaster of the Seven Kingdoms and he knew Varys a lot better that Varys would have liked. If someone knew what had happened all those years ago in Dorne, it was him.

"I only go for close shaves these days, Lord Baelish," he answered. "Best not be sentimental."

Varys begun to follow the procession and Littlefinger fell in beside him. "Prince Oberyn is a sentimental man as well. All know that he does not share his brother's pragmatism and he doesn't easily forget. He won't have forgotten you, Lord Varys."

"Maybe not, but Prince Oberyn is not in Dorne and I doubt Prince Doran would have let him come had he threatened to ruin his plans."

Littlefinger smiled. "If that is what you have to tell yourself to sleep at night, then far from me the idea of trying to stop you."

Varys turned to look at the sneering Master of Coin. He could not fathom why King Eddard had named him to the position and what arguments Jon Arryn had used but he wished that he hadn't. While he enjoyed this little game between them, he knew full well that Littlefinger did not have the Starks' best interests at heart.

"What do you have to do to get to sleep peacefully at night I wander; one of your escorts in the dark so that you can think of someone else…?"

"Why do in the dark what can be done in the light?"

"…or perhaps someone a little closer to Riverrun?"

Varys turned to see the sneer on Littefinger's face falter; he had hit the mark. "It would be distressing for you were the Hand to find out about your nocturnal activities, wouldn't it? He has been so good to you in the past."

"You desire something, I am sure. You wouldn't have parted with such a secret unless you wanted something from it." Littlefinger was no longer in a playing mood; he had lost the advantage and he knew it.

Varys could have relished the moment but Oberyn's arrival had been unsettling and he didn't want a long conversation with Littlefinger just now. "Peace and quiet is a good start, I would think." With that, he quickened his pace and Littlefinger did not follow.

The feast that followed was pleasant enough for everyone and Varys could do what he did best during such occasions: observe and discover. Whenever he saw a conversation being struck up, he would make a note and send one of his little birds as soon as possible to discover more. Even if there was nothing of interest for the Crown in the conversation, Varys preferred knowing to not knowing; he had learnt long ago that knowledge was a great power and he had made it his task to discover all he could about everyone he knew. This allowed him to keep ahead of them and call in favours that they could seldom refuse. When he saw Lord Velaryon speaking with the Tyroshi ambassador, he wondered what it could be about because he knew that the conflict between Tyrosh and Driftmark over right of passage in the Stepstones was looming once again. The same could be said when Lord Willas Tyrell, the heir to Highgarden, was seen speaking with Lord Blackwood, Lord Tully's representative; or how Cersei Lannister, wife to Lord Willas, seldom spoke to anyone. This was what he had trained himself to do and it was what the king expected of him. And now that the plans he had carefully put into action long ago were finally coming to fruition, he needed to be sure that no one would imperil them.

His gaze turned to the main table where Jon Arryn and Princess Sansa were entertaining their guests. The princess was deep in conversation with the prince's paramour, Ellaria Sand. It was not often that a bastard was allowed to sit at the head and Varys knew that Queen Catelyn would not like it when she returned from the North but they could not afford to offend the Martells. Prince Oberyn was entertaining the young Prince Rickon, apparently with stories of Dorne, and the young royal seemed fascinated with the stories. Jon Arryn spoke from time to time with his wife, Lysa, sister to the Queen, who had been persuaded to separate from her son to greet the Dornish delegation. Behind them, the three Kingsguard kept their eye as open as Varys did. All was as it should be.

Until Jon Arryn shouted; the Hand's outburst stunned the room into silence. His hand had gone to his head and his face was twisted by pain. The Kingsguard reacted immediately: Ser Rodrik and Ser Barristan went for their charges while Ser Arys approached the Hand who was seated next to his own charge. Lord Arryn rose unsteadily; ignoring his wife's concerned glances or Ser Arys's questions. Clasping the back of his seat with one hand, he screamed again as another apparent stab of pain shot through his head… and then he collapsed.

Ser Arys was at his side immediately and called for the Grand Maester as blood started to drop from Jon Arryn's nose.


End file.
